Reckoning
by Awahili
Summary: Drawn back into a world he'd thought he'd left behind, Cal is forced to revisit his past when Gillian goes missing in Paris during a conference. Can he find out what happened and get to her before it's too late?
1. Chapter 1

Alright, folks. This is my first Lie to Me fic, so please review and let me know how I've done. I've got some other ideas in my head, so if response to this story is favorable I'll see about writing those.

Rated T for violence, adult themes, and mild language

* * *

_Wednesday, April 6, 2011_

_Washington, D.C. - 8:14 AM_

Cal Lightman stormed through the front doors of his company like a man on a mission. Ignoring the hesitant smile of the errand boy passing him, he stopped abruptly at the front desk and peered down at the woman sitting behind it.

"Has Doctor Foster called in yet?" The receptionist, Heidi, looked up at her boss with a disarming smile.

"Good morning, Doctor Lightman." She had been working for the Lightman Group since its inception almost six years ago, and though she'd been intimidated at first by the namesake's rather acerbic nature, she'd grown accustomed to handling him. Lightman paused for a moment, his lip curling in indignation, before he sagged his shoulders in defeat.

"Good morning, Heidi," he returned shortly, and Heidi's smile widened.

"Doctor Foster left a message on your personal voicemail early this morning." Lightman nodded once then, without a thank you, turned on his heel and strode toward his office. The lights turned on as he passed through the door, and he tossed his jacket over the arm of the couch on his way to his desk. As Heidi had said, the small red light on his desk phone was blinking, and he pressed the play button as he sank down into his leather chair.

"Hey Cal, it's me," Foster's voice filled the room, and he felt a bit of his anxiety diminish. "I made it in all right. Mr. Harrington met me at the airport and dropped me to the hotel with no problems. It's just about noon here, but I'll be napping for the rest of the day so call at your own risk." He laughed at that, picturing her glaring sternly as she spoke. "I know I said it before I left, but it bears repeating in case you weren't listening to me the first time. Don't do anything stupid while I'm gone, and don't come down too hard on Eli and Ria. I'd like to still have employees when I get home." A yawn defused her strict tone and her voice softened. "Take care of yourself, Cal." The message ended with a beep, and he noted the time stamp.

"Six hours," he muttered, jotting down the time difference between where he was and where Foster would be for the next week. The Lightman Group had been asked to lecture in Paris to a joint-branch police force regarding interrogation techniques and deception detection. Deciding that Foster was the better diplomat of the two of them, Cal had agreed to muddle through the week without her.

Now, however, he was regretting that decision as Heidi entered his office quietly with a stack of folders.

"What's this, then?" he eyed her shrewdly as she set the files on his desk, but she just smiled back.

"Just a few daily things that Doctor Foster usually handles. With her out of the office, she said you would take care of them." Cal glared at the files as if they had offended him, but Heidi just waited patiently until he flipped the top one open.

"Weekly expense report?" he muttered, sliding it over to reveal the next one. "Monthly Budget Analysis," and another, "Employee Performance Reviews." He cursed under his breath before offering Heidi a quick, silent apology. Having grown used to her boss' sometimes colorful language, she just smiled back expectantly.

"Just sign them, Doctor Lightman. Doctor Foster already looked them over before she left."

"Couldn't she have just signed them all ahead of time?" he grumbled as he fished a pen from its place beside his monitor.

"Possibly," Heidi answered truthfully. Cal sent her a glare, but the receptionist was unfazed. Once all the reports and analyses had been signed and dated, Heidi gathered them up and slipped out the door. Cal glanced at the clock – eight thirty – noting it was probably still too soon to call Foster back. Given the time difference and the jet lag, he guessed she'd probably sleep until she had to be up the next morning. Still, he thought it right to call her later and make sure she ate dinner at least.

That left him at least four hours to fill until then, and he searched his office in vain for something to do. Not finding anything, he swiveled in his chair and stared out at the morning cityscape of DC. In truth, Foster's office had the better view but he'd let her have it when they'd moved in because he knew how much something like that meant to her. On more than one occasion he'd slipped into her office as she stared aimlessly at the city before her, lost in thought. He tried it now, staring at the passing cars and people below while letting his mind wander.

He sat still for all of three and a half minutes before the silence got the best of him and he bolted from his chair to find something to occupy his time. Loker and Torres were sitting in their shared office, each typing away on their respective laptops. Torres looked up at he entered, question written all over her face, but Loker kept pecking away at his keyboard.

"What are you doing?" Eli looked up quickly, and Cal detected a quick flash of guilt before the younger man covered with a half-smirk.

"Doctor Foster hasn't even been gone a day and you're already going stir crazy?" he asked bluntly. Cal shook a finger at him and let him know with a raised eyebrow that he wasn't fooled.

"So crazy that I thought about cutting my number of employees in half. Which of you should I keep around, huh?" Eli's smirk widened at the empty threat and he stood quickly.

"I've got an interview with that private school headmaster at eleven, and Ria was going to get started on that module you assigned her yesterday. If you want the interview, I can stay here and help her get through it." Torres didn't bother hiding her offended expression, and Lightman laughed.

"Nah, I'm not doing your dirty work. Besides, it's my science so if Torres has any questions I should be around to answer them. Get to work, then." He made a shooing motion with his hand as he turned and sauntered off, leaving his employees to share a knowing smile behind his back. "And stop that!" he yelled back.

"Ten bucks says he cracks by noon." Loker sank back into his chair to finish the email he'd begun composing to a girl he'd met in a bar the night before.

"No bet," Torres returned quickly. "With Foster gone, Lightman's going to be unbearable."

Three hours later, Cal had reorganized his bookshelf, dusted and vacuumed his office, and got caught up on all the boring paperwork he'd been putting off for a month. As he sank down on his couch, he ran a hand over his face in a weary gesture.

"It's going to be a long weekend." A knock on his door pulled him out of his thoughts, and he grunted an acknowledgement before it creaked open.

"Doctor Lightman?" It was one of the ever present techs that seemed to flit about like ghosts around the office. Most of the time, Cal took no notice of them. Now, however, he looked up at the young man with an annoyed expression.

"What is it now?" he barked, causing the boy to jump back a bit in response. "Oh for heaven's sakes...what do you need?" He had very little time for the pesky interruptions, which is probably why most of them went to Foster with their questions.

"I was just wondering...well, not really wondering but curious really...I mean, usually Doctor Foster handles this stuff, but she's not here. You know that, though, don't know why I said that." He seemed to stumble over his words, rambling faster and faster as he watched his boss grow increasingly perturbed.

"Just spit it out, son. Sometime this century would be nice."

"Right!" the boy shifted his weight from one foot to the other and straightened his back in preparation for delivering his message. "It's just the research assignment Doctor Foster gave us last week. We finished the preliminary reports and need someone to look them over." Cal stared blankly at the boy for ten silent seconds before he burst from his seat.

"You know, now's not the best time," Cal turned the boy around and shoved him none too gently toward the door. "After lunch, yeah? Don't let the door slam on your way out." He waited until he was alone to let out a quiet growl of frustration. He checked the clock as he threw himself into his desk chair, finally giving in to the urge that had been pestering him all morning.

The phone rang almost five times before it clicked to life, and Cal heard the rustling of fabric as the person on the other end adjusted the receiver. Finally a quiet, exhausted voice filled his ear and he couldn't help but smile.

"Cal, what do you want?"

"Just checking in, Foster. How is Paris?" he asked, lilting his voice with the native pronunciation of the name. She laughed at his obvious question, not at all fooled by his nonchalant tone.

"Blissfully quiet," she responded easily. "How are things at the office?" Cal seized onto the opportunity and began a tirade against the massive amount of paperwork he'd been forced to do. Ever the psychiatrist, Foster listened patiently until he'd run himself out.

"That's just the daily stuff, Cal. You'll also have to handle payroll tomorrow so it's ready for Friday, and don't forget to pay the bills either." Cal growled something unintelligible, and Foster just chuckled. "Consider it payback for waking me up," she said. "Any other reason you called?"

"Nah, just wanted to check in. You've got a busy day tomorrow?" He heard her stifle a yawn and a twinge of guilt went through him for waking her up. Then he eyed the stack of paper Heidi had somehow snuck onto his desk and he didn't feel so bad anymore.

"Mr. Harrington is picking me up in the morning, and I'll be giving lectures all day. There's some formal dinner tomorrow night, then I've got the following day free to see the sights before I have to be back at the conference hall for more talks on Saturday." Cal grimaced at the thought of all that mingling, and he faked a sympathetic whine that belied his smile.

"Better you than me, darling. I'm going mad just thinking about all that." She laughed her agreement, punctuated again by another yawn. "I'll let you get back to sleep. I just wanted to check in."

"Everything's fine. Don't drive the staff too crazy while I'm gone." The smile he heard in her voice told him she wasn't fooled by his fib.

"Will do, Gill. You be careful." She didn't even bother replying to his warning, just said goodnight and hung up. Cal held onto the receiver for a few more minutes, soaking up what was probably the last connection with his partner for a couple of days. After a few seconds of silence, he shook himself out of his thoughts and tossed the phone back onto the cradle. His company wasn't going to run itself, especially with Foster halfway across the world. He decided that with her gone, it was time to lean a bit harder on his subordinates. Smiling shrewdly at the thought of finally drilling some science into Torres' head, he set a determined scowl on his face and strode out into the hallway.

* * *

Well, there you have it. The Prologue. This will be 7 chapters in total, and I'll probably update once a week unless there's an overwhelming demand for more. Ta!


	2. Chapter 2

_Thursday, April 7th, 2011_

_Washington, D.C. - 3:06 AM_

Cal started awake as the shrill sound of his phone pierced the air. Muttering a curse, he fumbled blindly over his nightstand to silence the offending noise. His fingers closed around the device, and he blinked blearily as he tried to make out the caller's name. "Unknown" flashed back at him, and he silenced the ringer before flinging the phone back to its resting place with a loud clatter.

Moments later it rang again, and he cursed a bit louder as he sat up and switched on his bedside lamp. Now more angry than tired, he pressed the talk icon forcefully and pulled the phone to his ear.

"You better have a damn good reason for calling me at three in the morning." In one of his famous bouts of radical honesty, Loker had once made the comment that Cal was a bit "snarky" over the phone. He hadn't thought anything of it until Foster had agreed, adding a not-so-subtle comment about flies and honey. Usually, when speaking to someone he didn't know, he made a point to pay attention to his tone, but now he was tired and pissed and didn't care who knew it.

"Doctor Lightman?" The man's thick estuary accent caught Cal off guard, and he froze a moment before taking a breath.

"Yeah, that's me. Who are you?"

"Ian Harrington, attaché to the British Embassy here in Paris. I am Doctor Foster's liaison for the symposium." Cal's heart began to race a bit faster, wondering why this man was contacting him in the middle of the night.

"Okay, how do you do and all that? Where's Foster?" Cal had never been one for pleasantries, and the growing ache in the pit of his stomach wasn't helping.

"I...we're not quite sure." The hesitation, as well as the change of pronoun, caught Cal's attention immediately.

"What do you mean 'you're not sure'? And who is we?"

"Well, you see, I arrived this morning to take Doctor Foster to the conference hall, but she didn't answer my calls. When I inquired at the front desk, they directed me to her room but she wasn't there. I tried her cell again, but she'd left it in the room."

"You're telling me Foster is missing in Paris? Have you contacted the police?"

"I have. They've acquired the hotel's security tapes which show Doctor Foster leaving the hotel around four this morning, but they never show her returning." Cal's heart was racing now, and he jumped out of his bed violently.

"Could she just be having, you know, a large breakfast somewhere and lost track of time?" He knew in his gut the answer to his own question; Foster never lost track of time. If Harrington was supposed to pick her up at eight, she would have been in the lobby at a quarter to.

"Well, that's rather why I was calling you. Is there anyone in Paris that she knows? Anyone she could have visited?"

"No," Cal shook his head, fairly certain that Foster would have mentioned something like that to him. "Wait, how did you get this number?"

"She listed you on her international information as her emergency contact. I also have your office number. The police thought it would be best if I contacted you, though they are still here if you'd like to speak to them."

"Nah, my French is only good enough to get me slapped anyhow. Look, you just keep looking for her and you call me the moment you know something."

"I will, Doctor Lightman." Then, almost as an afterthought, he added, "I'm sure she's just caught up in the wonder of the city."

"Yeah," he trailed off, disconnecting without saying goodbye. He stared into space for a moment, willing his mind to catch up. Foster was missing in Paris, and though it was generally safe for tourists throughout the year, there were numerous characters in and around the city who were less than savory.

He should have been more adamant with her about her security, he berated himself silently. They'd joked before she left about not talking to strangers and staying alert, but he should have pushed the issue. What was she thinking walking alone in Paris at four in the morning? His gut clenched at the mental image of her strolling down the street alone, an easy target for the scum that roamed the city. Even just the idea of her being attacked set his blood boiling, and he startled into action before he even realized what he was doing.

He had an emergency bag packed with all his necessities in case he had to go out of town suddenly. It had come in handy for his impromptu trip to Afghanistan, and he pulled it out of the closet and set it on the bed as he thought about what he was doing. If he showed up in Paris and Foster was fine, she'd never let him hear the end of it. She would also, most likely, be livid with him for dropping everything for nothing and leaving Loker and Torres alone. But if she was truly missing, if the police couldn't find her by tonight, then there was nothing that would stop Cal from tearing Paris apart to find her.

With his mind made up, he tossed some of his everyday items into the bag. He would wait to hear from Harrington one more time, or call the man himself by noon; if they hadn't found Gillian by then, he would be on the next flight out to Paris. Knowing he would get no more sleep that night, Cal grabbed his passport from his desk drawer and walked out the door.

The drive into the city was quiet at three in the morning, and Cal took his time driving through the mostly empty streets. He decided not to tell Torres and Loker until he knew more of the situation, and Emily he would leave unaware until it was all over. His daughter had a heart of gold – God knows where she got that from – and a particular soft spot for his partner. If anything happened to Gillian, the girl would be devastated. Better to leave her in the dark for now and save her the heartache of worry and uncertainty.

The main hallway of the Lightman Group was dark when he arrived, lit only by the street lamps outside the picture windows. He set his bag down in his office, but then stepped down the hall into Foster's instead. She really did have the better view, he mused as he sunk down into her desk chair. The office smelled like the vanilla scented candles she lit every day to drive away the chill of the mornings, as well as the heady aroma of the soft leather furniture that sat across the room. Cal swiveled in her chair once, taking in the darkened office, before turning back to the cityscape.

The Washington Monument loomed in the distance, towering over the National Mall proudly. He could make out the lights of the Mall from where he sat, though none of the other memorials were visible from the Lightman Group. Somewhere off to his right, he knew, was the White House and the Hoover Building, and he spared a thought for Agent Reynolds. For a moment, he considered calling the FBI agent, but dismissed it just as quickly. A missing American in Paris was completely out of the FBI's jurisdiction, and even if Ben wanted to help there was little he could do from Washington.

Time passed, and slowly the darkness lightened as the sun rose over the horizon of rooftops. The sounds of a busy city began to grow louder in the background as Cal's mind wandered through a maze of possibilities and outcomes. A honking horn snapped him out of his trance, and he rubbed his eyes tiredly, surprised when his fingers came away wet. He hastily wiped the tears from his face and stood up stiffly, his blood singing for action.

"Doctor Lightman?" Heidi's voice startled him, and he spun around quickly to face the young woman.

"Heidi, you're in early." She frowned at him for a moment before schooling her features professionally.

"Not really. It's six thirty." She scrutinized him carefully, as if she were the scientist and he an interesting specimen. But Cal Lightman had not risen to the top of his profession by chance, and he made sure she saw nothing but exactly what he wanted her to. She dropped her eyes quickly, receiving his subtle message to leave him alone. With one last nod, she turned and walked back to the front desk, leaving him alone.

He ran a hand over his face wearily before cursing to himself for being caught in Foster's office. Still, it was better that she think he was just missing his partner; if she knew the truth there was a good chance he'd have to deal with an overly-emotional secretary as well as everything else.

He returned his own office quietly, tucking his overnight bag under his desk away from prying eyes. He sat in his own chair, fully intent on starting his day, but the image of Gillian alone and injured in Paris simply would not let him be. He barely resisted the urge to dial Doctor Harrington for an update and instead focused his attention on more productive matters. After booting up his laptop, he began compiling a list of possible contacts overseas that might help him if worse came to worse. The list was woefully short, but the names that Cal had typed were reliable; they had never let him down before and they wouldn't fail him now.

The next task took considerable more time as he researched the fastest, easiest way to get to Paris. There was a flight out that evening, but it wouldn't land in France until the following evening – not an acceptable time frame for Cal. His only other choice was a private jet, something that would not be cheap. By the time his noon deadline rolled around, Cal had tracked down transport and a pilot. He'd have to take out a second mortgage on his home to pay back the money he'd have to pull from the company funds, but if Gillian really was in danger that was a minimal factor.

His ringtone snapped him to attention in his chair, and he slipped it out of his pocket and to his ear in record time.

"Harrington? Have you found her?"

"Dad, what's going on? Found who?" Emily's voice filled his ear, and he cursed himself silently for not checking the caller ID before answering.

"Em? Aren't you supposed to be in school?"

"They do give us a lunch break sometimes, Dad. And you didn't answer my question." Sometimes he questioned the wisdom of raising her the way he had, but he knew he'd never change anything about her. She was smart – sometimes too smart – and she knew Foster had gone to Paris for the week. If she put two and two together she would freak out; it was time for damage control.

"It's nothing, Em, just a wayward client – nothing to worry about. Did you call for a reason, or are you just trying to annoy me at all hours of the day now?" He would never complain about talking to his daughter, but right now he only wanted to hear one voice.

"Ha ha, very funny. Actually I was calling to see if it would be okay if I spent the weekend with Amanda. Her aunt has this huge ranch with horses, and she said we could go riding." Cal frowned into the phone; normally he hated not getting to spend his free days with Emily, but this would only work in his favor if he had to up and leave the country soon. Still, he thought, best not seem too eager.

"Oh, I'm not sure Em. I haven't even met this aunt."

"It's totally cool, Dad. And there won't be any boys, I promise. Just me, Amanda, and her aunt all weekend." She knew it was the "no boys" that would sell him, and he sighed heavily.

"Fine, but I want the aunt's name and the number to her house and cell." He could practically hear his daughter rolling her eyes, but he knew she would have been suspicious if he acted differently.

"I'll text you when we get there."

"Fine, Em. Have fun." He smiled involuntarily as she squealed happily.

"He said yes!" This was presumably not meant for him, and he waited for her to calm down before saying goodbye.

"Behave yourself, Emily. I love you."

"Love you, too, Dad. You're the best!" He hung up before he had the chance to lie to her again. She would be well taken care of in his absence, and he made a mental note to send a thank you note to Amanda's aunt at his first convenience.

"Doctor Lightman?" It was Torres, and he looked up quickly as she stepped just inside his office. "There's an Ian Harrington on the main line from Paris?" There was more to her statement than the words, but a look from him told her to leave it for now. He waved her away, and she dutifully closed the door as Cal picked up the phone.

"What have you got?" There was no time for pleasantries, and he could practically hear the guilt and apology in the other man's sigh.

"I'm afraid there's been no sign of her, Doctor Lightman. The police have officially labeled her a missing person, and the American Embassy has been notified. Is there anyone – next of kin, perhaps – that needs to be called?" Cal closed his eyes as the news sunk in; Gillian was officially missing.

"Here's what's going to happen," he began, his tone leaving no room for argument. "I'm getting on a private jet out there immediately. I'll forward you the details, and contact you once I hit the ground."

"What can a scientist possibly do that the police can't?" Harrington had already given up, and Cal bit back a growl as he answered.

"Well then, it's a good thing I wasn't always a scientist. See you." He hung up and grabbed his bag as he stood. Loker and Torres were waiting on the other side of his door, and he glared at them for a few seconds before beckoning them inside. If he was going to pull off a miracle, he'd need a little help.

* * *

Thanks to all the reviewers out there! Cal is a hard man to pin down. He just has so many roles, wears so many hats, that sometimes it's hard to switch between them and keep them all straight. Kudos to Samuel Baum and Tim Roth for creating and portraying such a dynamic, complex character.


	3. Chapter 3

Thanks to all the reviewers for the previous chapters. Don't know if I've said it before, but I'm saying it now: I don't own this show. If I did, it would still be on the air.

This one's a bit longer for you, since we're getting into the good stuff now.

* * *

_Thursday, April 7th, 2011_

_Somewhere over the Atlantic Ocean - 7:35 PM (EST)_

Cal squirmed in his chair as the small jet glided over the Atlantic Ocean. He'd left DC three hours ago, and with five and a half hours left in the flight he knew he'd have to do something to distract himself quickly. He'd already contacted almost everyone on his list, and of the six or seven names he'd written down only two were willing and able to help. The others were either unavailable, retired, or - in the case of one of his seedier contacts - permanently remanded to a rehabilitation facility. Still, the two he'd managed to talk into helping him were working hard, and Cal forced himsef to relax and wait. One of his old MI6 contacts was compiling an entire dossier on everything from local gangs to international terror rings, and Cal only had one more call to make. Deciding to save that for a bit later, Cal leaned back and attempted to get some sleep.

An email notification woke him from his light slumber, and he quickly sent a thank you reply before downloading the large file to his hard drive. The first few pages were just petty crime lists and mugging reports from that area, and Cal quickly committed the faces to memory before moving on to the heavier stuff.

The terrorist group listing was a bit more in depth, but as Cal sifted through them he didn't see one that used kidnapping as a _modus operandi_. More aggravating still was his complete lack of knowledge regarding any of the groups listed, and for the first time in his life Cal regretted leaving the intelligence business. He'd have to track down the DCRI to get more help, but even then he wasn't sure how much they would tell him.

As far as the local police were concerned, he should leave this to them and stay in his lab where he belonged. But as the plane inched ever closer to European soil, Cal could feel his old instincts awakening again. Already his mind was cataloguing and storing information for later use, and he could almost feel the weight of a sidearm on his hip. After the whole mess seven years ago, Cal had sworn to himself and to his family that he would leave that part of his life behind him. Every now and then he felt his body surging for one more adrenaline rush, which is what usually led to his rather colorful way of handling cases. But for the most part he had retired from that life, and he was content with running his company and raising his daughter.

If he was being honest with himself, this resurgence had begun the moment Harrington had told him Foster was missing. He'd felt it before, when Jenkins had rather unsubtly hinted that his partner had been targeted by a serial rapist, and again when Matheson had held him at gunpoint for the better part of the day. But nothing had prepared him for the realization of his best friend completely disappearing in a city halfway around the world. Even his small but exciting stint in Afghanistan wasn't comparable to the rush that was overwhelming him now. All of a sudden, living a quiet and safe life wasn't an option and his entire body screamed for him to jump into action.

That action took the form of a phone call, and ten minutes later he felt much better about this entire operation. There weren't many people he trusted to help him with this, and he'd contacted every one of them in the last five hours. Loker and Torres were connected back home, ready to give any assistance required of them. Cal had explained everything to them, trusting them to keep things together while he was gone. Emily had been notified by Torres that he'd been called away suddenly and, since her mother was also out of town for the foreseeable future on a big case, she would be staying with Ria if Cal was unable to return by Sunday night. Emily had of course launched into a tirade of questions about where he was going, what he was doing. After his impromptu trip to Afghanistan last year, she had become a bit paranoid whenever her dad took off unexpectedly. He reassured her that he wasn't heading into any war-torn countries (not a lie) and that he would call her within a day or two to check in. She'd grumbled a bit but accepted his promise, adding a heartfelt good luck that brought tears to his eyes.

Thinking of home, he opened up an email window and sent a message to his team that he was en route and he would contact them as soon as he was settled in Paris. Loker was doing his thing back home, researching the various terrorist groups and looking for anything that would indicate if any of them had been the one to snatch Gillian. Ria focused on the company, running things in Lightman's absence. She wasn't as solid on the science as Cal would have liked, but she knew enough to get by and her instincts were good; he trusted her to keep things running smoothly.

He pinched the bridge of his nose as the pressure behind his eyes built to a crescendo. He shut his laptop and dimmed the lights, hoping to stave off a headache by getting some more sleep. He had another four hours to go, and he'd be getting very little sleep once he landed.

He was jostled awake by a rather rough landing, and he ignored the apology of the captain over the intercom as he scrambled to get all his things together. By the time they taxied to a stop, Cal was already standing at the hatchway. He nodded a quick thanks to the pilot and flew down the portable steps as soon as the door opened, jogging the short distance to the nondescript black SUV that was parked some ways away. The sun was just cresting over the tops of the buildings as he slid into the passenger seat.

"Cal Lightman?" the driver asked shortly, and Cal flashed him a quick but meaningful smile. "The boss said to take you straight to headquarters." He was the stereotypical agent, Cal thought humorlessly. With close cropped blonde hair, earpiece, and sunglasses, he looked like a bad movie villain rather than an up and coming agent. But he had that air of smugness that accompanied all young agents, and Cal thought it best to establish the pecking order quickly. With a sharp nod, he directed the younger man to start driving.

"Did he get everything I requested?"

"It's all waiting for you, sir." Cal tried to relax into the seat, but the adrenaline was already building in his system so he settled for bouncing his leg impatiently as they slipped through the busy streets. He closed his eyes briefly, trying not to remember the last time he'd been in Paris. That op had gone south so fast, he'd barely had time to slip away before it all came crashing down. He'd managed to pull a few local operatives out with him, earning him his current favor with "the boss."

"Has anyone made any headway into the file I sent you?" The driver pressed his lips together, preparing himself to deliver unpleasant news. Cal glanced back out the window in defeat even as he spoke.

"I'm sorry, sir, but no one has been able to locate anything further on your missing scientist." It had been the easiest thing to tell them, he reasoned as he recalled his story. Doctor Gillian Foster, a scientist on loan from the American government, had gone missing from her hotel room the previous morning. It was technically not a lie, but if he gave any indication at all that this was completely personal for him, they'd keep a tighter leash on him.

"I expected it," he let the younger man off the hook with a simple statement, knowing he'd be no good if he felt guilty for something beyond his control. "How long until we reach headquarters?"

"Forty minutes in good traffic."

As it turned out, traffic was horrible and a very irate Lightman shot out of the SUV two hours later into an empty parking garage. Sensing his companion's urgency, the young agent directed him quickly to a service elevator. Two minutes after that, Cal was standing in a plush office with two opposing doors and one large window that overlooked the City of Love.

"_Doctor_ Cal Lightman," a graying man emerged from the door on Cal's left with a thin smile and tired eyes. He wore dark slacks and a white button up shirt, complete with bland tie and shiny shoes. David Turner had been a formidable operative in his day – one of the best – but he'd obviously traded his sidearm for the uniform of upper management. "I never thought I'd see you again. Word had it you were out of the business." He held out his hand and Cal returned the pleasantry quickly.

"Yeah, well, you've certainly moved up in the world." Cal looked around the lavish office pointedly, and David laughed.

"I can't complain. Look, I don't want to keep you, but I do have some things I need to go over with you before you get started." He looked up at the young agent who'd driven Cal. "Thank you, Barton, that'll be all." The agent nodded once and closed the door behind him as he left. Cal waited, but when David offered no further information he stared at his friend accusingly.

"Is there something you want to say to me?" Cal inquired harshly. But David wasn't intimidated by the Lightman glare, and even returned it with one of his own.

"I've gone through a lot of trouble to get the things you requested." What he wasn't saying was more telling, and Cal wondered if the room was bugged. He guessed not, seeing as David was about as high on the intelligence food chain as you could get, but he'd learned long ago never to assume. "So you owe me the truth, Cal. What is going on?" They held their battle of wills for a moment longer before Cal's eyes broke away.

"Gillian Foster isn't just an American scientist on loan here," he started, turning to face the picture window as he spoke. "She's…my colleague, my partner."

"Partner? I thought you were retired –"

"Not that kind of partner – my business partner. You know what I do now?" David made no indication that he did, but Cal could read it on his face. "Doctor Foster is the other half of my company, and my best friend to boot. I've got to find her." David paused for a moment, always careful to assess his own words before he spoke. Cal supposed it was what made him so good at his job – and why Cal had never really fit well in the organization.

"Cal, you're too close to this. One wrong step and this could end badly for _everyone_." He emphasized the last word fiercely, and Cal growled.

"No, the only other one I'd trust is you, and you've obviously gotten out of field work. I may not be young, but I'm not dead. If Gillian can still be saved, it's me who's gonna do it." It killed him to phrase it as though he might fail, but Cal had always been good at seeing all the outcomes. It had made him a good agent, and it made him an even better gambler. And right now, he was betting that Foster was still alive.

David walked over to the corner of his office and pulled up a briefcase, handing it across the desk to Lightman. "The code's 790. There's a safe room set up under one of our aliases in the hotel around the corner; we've used it before and the manager is one of ours." Cal gripped the leather handle tightly as he turned to walk away. "Oh and Cal?" he turned back with his brow lifted in question, "tell Adrianna I said hello."

Cal found the hotel with some help and smiled at the young woman behind the counter as he relayed the message from David. Adrianna handed him the key to the room, as well as a small yellow envelope with the phrase "Cleaning Crew" on it. Cal pocketed the item and thanked her again, eager to get started. He found his room on the second floor next to the stairwell, and when he slipped the key card into the slot it beeped twice before unlatching.

The noon sun was glaring down on the city, and Cal pulled his curtains closed immediately as he tossed the briefcase and his bag onto the bed. He'd worry about unpacking later; right now all he cared about was the contents of the briefcase. He slid the tumblers to the right code on each side before pressing the latches open.

"Thank you, David," Cal murmured as he lifted the Colt 1911 and shoulder holster from the case. He pulled his black jacket off quickly, glad he'd thought to bring it along, before securing the weapon under his arm. The holster fit perfectly, and he spent the next thirty minutes practicing his draw from every possible position. There were a few that were rather difficult, but he didn't have time to deal with them; he would have to improvise if it came down to it.

Once his weapon and extra magazines were secreted away on his person, Cal turned to the remaining contents of the briefcase. A small netbook was powered and ready to go with a direct link to David's computer, as well as several contacts that might assist him in the operation. Cal set it to the side and fished for his cell phone. It was early back in DC, but Cal had told his people to expect calls at all hours of the day.

"Loker," he sounded exhausted but coherent, and Cal wondered briefly if he was even asleep.

"Loker, it's me. I'm in country now. How are things back home?"

"Quiet," Loker responded quietly. "Ria's been running interference with the staff, so no one knows where you are but us."

"Good, keep it that way. What about your research project?"

"Well, that's a little less than good," he commented wryly. "There's no activity to indicate any of the groups have captured an American. They could be biding their time, but that's out of character for the one or two groups who would resort to kidnapping. Prior activity indicates they would have…made a statement by now." The way he said the last phrase made Cal glad that Gillian wasn't in their hands, and he took a steadying breath before replying.

"Right, well, keep your ears open. You get any info, you let me know."

"You got it, boss." They didn't say goodbye, and as soon as the line disconnected Cal turned his attention to the envelope. He ripped it open, pulling out the folded piece of paper. On it was a simple number, local by the looks of it. He programmed it into his phone quickly with the label on the envelope. Once that was done, he found Harrington's number and dialed.

"Doctor Lightman, are you in Paris yet?"

"Just landed, actually. Fancy a cup of coffee?"

Ten minutes later Cal was sitting across a small table from a balding man in a tweed jacket and brown loafers. Their cups of coffee sat untouched in front of them as Harrington detailed everything he knew about Foster's disappearance. Unfortunately, he didn't give Cal any new information, and the older man barely hid his disdain.

"So you haven't found out anything more? Even just a hunch? I need a starting point, mate." It was a simple question, one Cal didn't really expect an answer to. But something flashed in the younger man's face, something that made the scientist in Cal sit up and take notice. Ian Harrington was _ashamed_. Cal leaned forward, pressing the issue with his body language.

"I…I really don't have the foggiest –" But Cal was done playing games, and he reached across the table in a lightning fast move to snatch Harrington's lapel in a tight grip.

"Whatever you're not about to say is probably something I need to know. Gillian's _life_ may depend on it, so you'll forgive me for forgoing the niceties." Ian looked properly fearful, an expression not easy to fake, and Cal let him go. They'd attracted a bit of attention from the other patrons, but no one was brave enough to stare for long. Ian straightened his jacket and slid his palm over his sweat-covered brow before speaking.

"Some time ago, I was approached by a man. He didn't tell me his name, just that he and his associates were interested in my work. I'm sure you're aware that I am an attaché to the British Embassy here. My work largely involves working with foreign guests and arranging conferences, symposiums, etc. I wasn't sure what they wanted from me, but I set up a meeting for the next day." Ian's face tightened as he recalled the rather unpleasant events that followed. "His thugs ambushed me on my way to the car that night. He told me I was working for him now, and that if I told anyone they would kill my mother."

"Your mother?" Cal interrupted, the question he wanted to ask obvious in his tone. Ian nodded quickly and took a deep breath.

"My mother lives in Mildenhall, Doctor Lightman. They knew things about her, about her house, that no one should know. I had to take them seriously."

"Continue."

"At first it was small things – pretending to be someone over the phone, signing for things I had no business signing for. But as time wore on they demanded more and more from me." He didn't elaborate, but Cal could imagine what people like that could do to a man. "But then I got a break, and I had to take it. One of the thugs that had attacked me was arrested for assault and battery. He's still being detained right now, waiting our – _my_ – arrival."

"Our?" Cal hadn't missed the slip, and Ian's posture became more defensive. Guilt was the main expression etched on his face, but if Cal's suspicions were correct then he had every right to feel ashamed.

"I…I was the one who suggested the conference. I knew of your group's reputation, and I thought it would be a good excuse to get you here. I must admit, I had thought you would come personally, Doctor Lightman." Now it was Cal's turn to feel guilty, and he closed his eyes briefly as he remembered the easy manner in which he'd sent Gillian off to Paris.

"Yeah, well, Foster's better at the people thing; it's the psychiatrist in her. So the plan was to get me in country under this bollocks story of a conference, then have me interview a street thug? For what?"

"To see if my mother really is in danger," Ian replied forcefully. "If they're lying, I can report what I've done under duress and they'll be arrested."

"Yeah, or you'll be killed for squealing. Funny how that works."

"My government will protect me," his chin was raised defiantly, and Cal decided not to start that conversation. Ian's posture deflated immediately as reality crashed down on him. "When you're man called and said Doctor Foster was coming instead, I didn't think anything of it; if she's good enough to be your partner, I figured she could do it."

"Yeah, she's top notch. So you think these people kidnapped Gillian to keep her away from their man?"

"Or to remind me that they're always watching. Maybe both, I don't know."

"Right, well step one, we'll go and see this thug of yours. I didn't arrive in country through local channels so the odds of anyone knowing I'm here are slim." Ian nodded as if memorizing a grocery list. "Step two, call this number and ask for Harold. That's not his real name, and don't bother asking it. Tell him that you have a message from a countryman that needs to be delivered immediately. He'll tell you when and where to meet him. You tell him everything you just told me, you got it? _Everything_. He'll make sure your mum's safe, and you as well." Ian accepted the business card gratefully, and Cal could practically see the man's relief flooding from him.

"Thank you, Doctor Lightman. You don't know what this means to me."

"Tell you what," Cal downed his cup of coffee in one go and stood. "We find Foster alive, we'll call it even."


	4. Chapter 4

_Friday, April 8th, 2011_

_Paris, France - 1:15 PM_

The headquarters for the Prefecture de Police was housed in an old building on _Ile de la Cite_. With 34,000 sworn members and 87 stations spread out over 15 districts, Paris boasted one of the best police forces in the world. If the trip were for pleasure, Cal would have enjoyed watching Gillian gush about the architecture or the history. As it was, he didn't even glance at the building as Harrington led him inside.

Antoine Peroit, petty criminal, had been moved to the main building to accommodate Harrington's request. The symposium had been moved to allow for a "demonstration" by renowned scientist Doctor Cal Lightman, and as they walked into the small meeting room Cal was immediately bombarded with appraising stares and eager smiles from the group.

"Good afternoon ladies and gentlemen," Harrington was in his element, and Cal watched as he corralled everyone into their seats efficiently and quickly. There were about fifteen people in all from four different countries, though everyone present spoke English fluently. Once everyone was seated, he glanced at Cal with a nervous smile and continued. "Thank you for your patience and understanding. We have a real treat for you today. Doctor Foster has been unavoidably detained," Cal was certain he was the only who caught the thick swallow and nervous twitch that gave away the lie, "but we have Doctor Lightman himself here to demonstrate his unique research for us today." The room erupted in applause, and Cal slipped easily back into lecture mode as he approached the front of the room.

"Yeah, well, as Mr. Harrington said, I'm Doctor Cal Lightman. Now I'm sure you've all read up on what it is I do, so I won't bore you with the details. We have in this building a man arrested on an assault charge. I'm going to ask him a series of questions to determine whether he had an accomplice, or if he's working for a larger organization." Cal paused for a moment, assessing who among the assembled seemed most interested in his work and who would be trouble. He spotted one or two who were paying very close attention, and one in the back who seemed more interested in his phone than Cal's words.

"You there, in the back," the man looked up startled and quickly shoved his phone in his pocket. "What was your name?" Cal took a step forward, pressing him physically as the entire room turned to face him. For a moment, it looked as if he was going to play dumb, but he cleared his throat and lifted his chin proudly.

"Leonard." Cal suppressed a predatory grin as the British agent responded just as he hoped he would.

"You see how Leonard lifted his chin when he answered me? He's angry I called him out. And there," he pointed quickly, "he overcorrects to drop his chin, but his eyebrows are all scrunched together. Defensive anger is still anger, Leonard." The other officers in the room were quiet as Lightman continued, unwilling to be targets of his analysis. "What is so bloody important that you have to take care of it right now, in the middle of the conference?"

"Agency matters," he replied quickly, "none of your concern." The brows lifted in superiority then, and Cal chuckled humorlessly. "Right, well either pay attention or get out, but don't waste my time." He turned his eyes on the rest of the group and offered a charming smile. "Shall we?"

They brought Antoine and his counsel into a small interrogation room with a large two-way mirror on one wall and no windows. A simple steel table sat in the middle, flanked on either side by two rather uncomfortable looking chairs. Cal was waiting inside with a single Parisian officer while Harrison and the others waited in the anteroom on the other side of the mirror. Cameras mounted on the wall would be recording the session for playback later.

When the prisoner was seated at the table, Cal stepped forward as if to take the opposite seat, but he just placed his hands on the back of the chair and leaned forward.

"What's your name?" Peroit looked confused for a moment before sensing that Cal was completely serious. He licked his lips before taking a short breath.

"Antoine Peroit," he said quickly. His accent wasn't as thick as Cal expected, and he pressed forward with the next question.

"And where were you born?"

"Lyon." His tone was harsher, and Cal knew he was probably wondering what this was all about.

"How old are you?" The questions continued like this for a few more minutes as Cal got a baseline for the man's features. Finally, after an innocent question about his last meal, Cal stood up straight.

"And this bloke you just beat up and left for dead…did you know him?"

"I didn't beat anyone up," Antoine replied quickly.

"So this fellow, what, mugged himself and blamed you?" Antoine didn't reply, and Cal pressed further. "Is this first time you've attacked an innocent person?"

"I did not attack that man," Antoine insisted vehemently. His counsel was starting to get a bit impatient, so Cal switched tactics.

"See, Antoine, the thing is we _know_ you assaulted this man with a lead pipe. What we don't know is why." Cal's question was met with silence, and he was beginning to understand Wallowski's constant sour mood. He stared down at the thug intensely, willing him to slip even a little. Finally, after almost two minutes of silence, Cal sighed.

"The man you 'didn't' assault was a tourist – an Englishman – and he's already contacted his embassy in regards to the crime. Mr. Ian Harrington has already agreed to take on his case, and is helping him bring in the best lawyers from Mildenhall. Admitting your guilt now might save you some headache, plus get you a lighter sentence." Cal watched as Peroit glanced sidelong at his lawyer, asking silently if that were true. But Cal had seen something else – something he'd inquired about without asking directly – and he smiled smugly.

"Thank you, Antoine, you have been a tremendous help. Enjoy your stay." He left a bewildered prisoner behind and turned toward the door. "Oh," he turned back and tilted his head toward the side in genuine curiosity, "do you ever get down to Magenta Boulevard?" An expression of guilt flashed across Antoine's face, almost imperceptible, but Cal caught it immediately. He wanted to stroll over there and beat the information out of him, but with the cameras and fifteen witnesses behind the mirror Cal knew he wouldn't get his chance. Not yet, anyway. Without another word he strode out the door purposefully and into the anteroom.

Cal gritted his teeth as he was forced to speak to the conference attendees again, this time for a play by play of his interview. He pointed out the necessity of the baseline, identified certain markers and manipulators, and answered all the questions in his normally curt and abrupt manner. The entire ordeal lasted for one grueling hour, and by the time they were filing out of their seats Cal was ready to throttle Harrington.

"I am so sorry, Doctor Lightman," the other man seemed to have learned something about facial expressions as he shied away from Cal's anger. "I had no idea this would take so long. Is there anything I can do to make it up to you?"

"Yeah, get me in a room alone with Peroit. And no cameras." Harrington sucked in a breath sharply, and frowned.

"I'm…I don't know if that's possible. His counsel, at least, will want to be present."

"No. Just me and him, or you'll never find out if your mother is really in danger." That struck a nerve, and Cal could read the anger and disdain on Ian's face. But he was playing hardball now, and he needed information.

"You know," Ian said darkly, "you know and you're blackmailing me."

"What, no, I would never do that. I just have a hunch. But I can't know for sure unless I can ask him directly. And I don't imagine that you want me to do that in front of God and everybody." He had won, and Ian knew it.

"I'll go arrange it. Stay here." He left Cal alone in the small conference room, wondering how this attaché who had absolutely no authority with the French Police was going to pull this off. He was beginning to suspect there was more to Ian Harrington that he'd let on. He pulled out the phone David had acquired for him and dialed a preset number, waiting the requisite number of rings before inputting a four digit code that connected him directly with his friend.

"Cal, where are you?"

"Prefecture de Police," Cal said poshly, "and it's quite nice. And before you ask, no I'm not here because I got in trouble. But, the grass _is_ greener. I'll let you know more when I do. In the meantime," he softened his voice in case the walls had ears, "could you do me a favor and look up a friend of mine?"

"I think so. Are you alright, though, Cal? You sound like you're not among friends."

"It's called 'being careful,' or so I'm told. Gillian recommends it now and again. She was supposed to meet a bloke at the airport; I just need to make sure he's on the up and up."

"Will do, Cal. Be careful." Cal disconnected without saying goodbye, confident his friend understood the message. Ian Harrington was about to be the subject of a very intense and thorough search.

"Alright," Harrington slipped back through the door with an anxious frown. "You've got five minutes. That's all I could get."

"That's all I'll need." Cal followed Ian into the corridor and down a winding series of hallways. Finally they reached a solid black door. There was no plaque or sign to indicate where they were, and Cal wondered briefly about why they would have such a room. Ian turned the knob and stepped aside, letting Cal entered the room alone.

If Antoine Peroit was surprised to see Cal, he did a very good job of hiding it. His hands were cuffed and sitting in his lap, but he was otherwise unrestrained. Cal walked in and sat quietly in the chair across from him, staring the man down. No doubt the hardened criminal thought Cal to be a simple scientist or – at worst – an aging detective.

"Here's how this is going to work," Cal started. "I'm going to ask a series of questions. You're going to answer them. If you lie to me," he curled his upper lip as he leaned forward menacingly, "I _will_ know about it. And there are no cameras in here, no witnesses, and a load of rather unpleasant inmates in there who could have very easily roughed you up a bit." It was faint – an almost indiscernible widening of the eyes – but Cal knew his point had been made.

"Okay, so I beat up the guy and took his wallet. What does that have to do with anything?" Cal's lips curled into a smirk and he leaned back.

"I don't care about a mugging. I'm more interested in your employer."

"My what? What does my job have to do with any of this?" He was playing dumb, which was fine for Cal…for now.

"Oh, not your job – I'm sure the toilets at the train station will get cleaned without you. I mean your boss, your leader. The one who told you to rough up Ian Harrington to get him under your boss' thumb." _Bullseye_, Cal thought as Peroit closed up.

"I don't know what you're talking about." _Classic avoidance posture_, Cal remarked to himself, analyzing every detail of Peroit's body language.

"Oh, yes you do. You were sending him a message, yeah? And when that didn't work, you stepped up your game. Told him you'd hurt his mother if he didn't cooperate. But that was a bluff, wasn't it?" Antione's eyes snapped back to Cal's, and the older man smiled. "Yeah, thought so. Your gang probably has its fingers in a lot of pies, so to speak, so getting basic information about Harrington wasn't hard. Just enough to scare him into doing what you wanted him to."

"You think you're so smart. So what if I lied to the guy?" This time Cal's grin faded, and his eyes darkened.

"I don't care, really," Cal admitted. "Though threatening a guy's mum is pretty low in my book. No, what I'm _really_ interested in is your business a couple of days ago on Magenta Boulevard." Peroit's jaw tightened and his nostrils flared, sending a clear message to Cal's already overstimulated brain. He launched himself across the space between them and gripped the man's jail suit tightly.

"_That_ is what I'm after," he snarled. "You were trying to send him another message, weren't you? Trying to intimidate Harrington by attacking an innocent woman." His hands tightened, and he could feel Peroit trying futilely to escape his grasp. Cal stood up, dragging the cuffed man with him, and slammed him against the wall forcefully.

"Tell me where she is!"

"I don't know!" Cal pulled him back and slammed him again, his other hand coming up to grip the man's jaw. A few more inches and his fingers would close around Peroit's throat.

"Liar!" Peroit had stopped struggling now, but craned his neck in an attempt to get Cal away from his neck. But Cal was livid now, his face contorted in a vicious sneer that promised retribution. "She did nothing to you, and you snatched her right off the street. Did you hurt her?" Peroit's eyes dropped and Cal's blood boiled. "You did."

"Emile did!" Peroit confessed fearfully. "I grabbed her from behind and she struggled. She kicked Emile in the stomach and he got mad! He…he slapped her across the face just before we put her in the car. Knocked her out for a few seconds, I think. But I didn't hurt her, I swear!" Cal growled savagely and slammed him against the wall again. His time was running out, and he didn't have enough information.

"I need Emile's last name and where you took the woman. You give me that, I might let you walk out of here unharmed."

"Rousseau! Emile Rosseau. They're holding her at his place until the boss gets back in town. Please don't hurt me." Cal snarled and released his hold on Peroit's neck, only to lash out and strike the man across the jaw with the heel of his palm. Peroit's head snapped around and collided with the wall as Cal let go of his shirt. Peroit crumpled to the ground with a painful moan as Cal walked out without so much as a backwards glance.

"Your mum's safe," Cal whispered to Harrington, watching as relief flooded his features. "And I know where they took Gillian. I'll leave you to clean up your own mess."

* * *

I had to do a bit of research for this chapter as I've never been to Paris. If I've gotten anything wrong, please let me know so I can fix it immediately. Thanks!

Next chapter will be from Gillian's POV, catching us up on what's been going on at her end.


	5. Chapter 5

_Friday, April 8th, 2011_

_Paris, France - 4:26 PM_

Gillian woke to the same surroundings for the second day in a row. Her head still pounded from the blow she'd received during her abduction, and the meager meals they served had done little to satiate her hunger. The last decent meal she'd had was on the plane ride over, and her stomach growled at the mere thought of the near-gourmet dish that had been served. At the time, she had been cursing Cal and his ability to talk her into things. But he'd been right in saying she was better suited for the task than he, though she suspected now he was harboring quite a bit of guilt on that score.

She rubbed her head where the one they called Emile had knocked her sideways, wincing as her fingers brushed a rather pronounced bump. She hoped it was nothing serious, but she didn't seem to have any signs of a concussion so she guessed he'd just gotten a good shot in. He'd been upset when she lashed out, her instincts taking over when one of them grabbed her from behind. But even shouting had not helped; the streets of Paris were nearly deserted at four in the morning. They'd picked her up and tossed her into their car without so much as a passerby turning his head.

The room she'd been thrown into was small and, if her memory worked properly, on the second floor of a small townhouse. She'd heard seven distinct and constant voices over the past two days, though for the last twelve hours one seemed to be missing. Her French wasn't very good, but she guessed Antoine was going to be in a lot of trouble if he ever showed up again.

She had no way of telling time other than the light peeking around the curtains. She'd been instructed the first day never to open them, and the beating she'd received for breaking that rule had taught her not to do it again – at least not when there was a chance one of them could walk in. Her internal clock told her it was probably early afternoon, and her second meal of the day would be delivered any moment.

Her thoughts wandered to her home, her friends, and she wondered what they were doing now. She had no doubt they knew she was missing, and she felt a brief moment of sympathy for her captors. Cal was fiercely protective of his friends and family, and Gillian had stopped lying to herself long ago about who topped that list. She'd be willing to bet her entire stake in the Lightman Group that Cal was pulling every string, tracking every lead, and quite probably making life hell for local law enforcement and the American embassy.

"Knock knock," came a soft voice, and Gillian snapped from her thoughts. A burly man in a black leather jacket stepped inside carrying a plate of food. It didn't look appetizing, but her breakfast had been small and she was starving. Still, she thought, she wouldn't give him the satisfaction of seeing her eager and desperate. She watched stone-faced as he set it on the dresser, then turned and strode out. She heard the outside lock engage, and counted to ten before retrieving her dinner.

It was bland but filling, and she set the empty plate back on top of the bureau before resuming her position on the cot. In her mind's eye, she recalled the layout of the house insomuch as she could remember. The room she was in was at the end of the hall, just across from a small bathroom. One more bedroom branched off the hallway on the right before it ended in a narrow staircase. At the bottom of the stairs was the front door, and to the left a small foyer opened up into a living space. Behind the stairs was the master bedroom, and the end of the hall opened into kitchen, with another door leading out into a tiny yard. Not a terribly large house, but suitable for their standards.

Unfamiliar as she was with the city, she had no idea exactly where they were. She had been woozy and disoriented on the drive from the hotel to the house, and she'd fallen unconscious just after they'd thrown her into the room. She was informed the following day that she would remain in the house until the boss got there. Once he arrived, it was up to him whether she lived or died.

That had been yesterday morning, and though she hadn't used her French since her college years, she picked up pieces of conversations now and then. If she was right, she only had one or two more days to plan an escape before the boss showed up. Even if she couldn't get away, she might be able to get a message to someone who could contact the authorities. It was a gamble, she knew, but she refused to sit around waiting for rescue. International matters had the worst red tape imaginable, and she could only guess how the American Embassy was handling this whole situation.

A rapid knocking interrupted her thoughts, and she jumped a bit as she looked up. But footsteps and angry tones told her it was someone at the front door, not her own, that had echoed through the house.

"_Qu'est-ce que vous voulez_?" The sharp voice made her wince involuntarily as Emile questioned the visitor harshly. The reply was too muffled for her to hear clearly, but it was definitely not French. One of the other men – Patrick, she thought – repeated Emile's question in English.

"What do you want?"

Again the visitor answered, but his voice seemed stronger, like he'd stepped into the foyer from the doorstep. There was something familiar about the cadence of his voice, and Gillian crept over to press her ear against the door. Emile switched to English himself, though it was broken and heavily accented.

"Who are you? You are not welcome." He was very angry, and Gillian wondered who had him so worked up.

"I was sent by a friend of yours," the visitor answered, and Gillian's heart caught in her throat – she would know that voice anywhere. Tears stung her eyes as she bit back a cry of relief. Shuffling feet alerted her to at least two men standing outside her door; if she made any sound at all, she and Cal would both be dead.

"What friend?"

"Antoine Peroit," Cal answered curtly. "He had to step out of town for a bit, sent me by to help you fellows out." A loud thud shook the wall, and she heard Cal grunt.

"Are you a cop? Did Antoine get arrested and squeal?" Patrick had obviously watched one too many American crime movies, but Gillian guessed no one was wise enough to call him out on it. Emile, on the other hand, wasn't so tactful. She heard the unmistakable sound of flesh on flesh, as well as a suppressed cry of pain. Her fingers clenched tightly into fists at the thought of them hurting Cal, but there was nothing she could do locked upstairs.

"Hey, alright mate, no need to get rough. I get when I'm not wanted. Antoine just said you three might need some help with some merchandise."

"We got six, and we're just fine. Now get out of here before I break your nose. And tell Antoine not to bother coming back." More shuffling, then the door slammed shut violently. Gillian jumped away from her own door, creeping over to the window as quietly as she could. She held her breath as she moved the curtains away just enough to catch a glimpse of Cal's familiar form striding across the lawn to a small black sedan. She wanted to bang on the window, to call out to him, but it would do her no good. The bars outside the window prevented her from escaping, and Emile would no doubt exact a vicious form of revenge on her before Cal could even make it through the front door.

Still, she could practically feel the relief coursing through her veins. She worked at the Pentagon and knew the kinds of operations Cal was involved in, even if she wasn't privy to all the details. Cal's history with the CIA and MI6 made him a dangerous enough enemy, and she'd personally witnessed the ease with which he handled firearms – as if they were an extension of his arm rather than a foreign object. She had no doubt that Cal was involved in every aspect of her rescue operation, and quite possibly would be the first through the door when they came for her.

The mention of Antoine meant that he was most certainly in police hands, and that Cal had been in country long enough to question him. She knew first hand he was like a hound dog on a scent, and with her in danger there was nothing that could sway him from his goal. His only problem was getting to her in time; if the boss returned before Cal could mount a rescue op, then they could be too late to save her.

With renewed purpose, Gillian stepped away from the window. She had, at most, two days before the boss returned and a very irate gang leader on her hands. She held no illusions about surviving the night unscathed, but that didn't matter. Cal was here and he was working on getting her out. Her only job now was to stay alive until he came for her.

* * *

So close, yet so far away. Things are starting to heat up, and the next chapter will be full of action, so stay tuned!


	6. Chapter 6

_Friday April 8th, 2011_

_Paris, France - 6:20 PM_

Cal stormed into his hotel room and tossed his jacket down on the bed. He slumped down next to it, leaning forward to rest his head in his hands. His jaw still smarted from the blow Emile had given him, and he fumed as he imagined what that bastard had done to Gillian. He'd gotten a little bit more information from his impromptu visit, but one fact repeated itself over and over in his mind: he had to get her out of there, sooner rather than later. He sent a quick message to David letting him know he was back in his room and safe before collapsing backwards onto the bed.

Exhaustion overwhelmed him, and he realized he'd been going non-stop for over 24 hours straight. Because of the flight, he hadn't really had a "night time" yet, and his body was beginning to exhibit signs of sleep deprivation. He chuckled humorlessly as he realized he really was getting old, biting back a groan as he rolled over onto his side and fell into a fitful sleep.

When he woke it was dark outside, and he leaped to his feet before swaying slightly. His vision tunneled for a moment before focusing on the clock, and he tried to recall the last thing he'd eaten. Cal grimaced as he realized dinner the night before Harrington had woken him up had been his last meal. First order of business would be room service, and then he'd get down to planning a rescue mission. The front desk was a little confused why he was ordering breakfast at three in the morning, but they promised him it would be ready within the half hour.

As he ate a hearty English breakfast Cal wrote down everything he could recall from the house, from the layout of the ground floor to the number and size of the men inside. He guessed Gillian was being kept on the second floor, and probably under lock and key. If he knew Gillian she was giving them hell, but he hoped she wasn't being too stubborn. Emile obviously wasn't the kind to be very forgiving when it came to troublesome guests, and Cal could attest personally to the man's short temper.

Just thinking about the possibilities made him so angry he couldn't think straight. He was on his feet pacing in the small space as images flitted through his brain, each more gruesome and stomach-wrenching than the last. Finally, as a flash of Gillian lying naked and beaten on the floor implanted itself in his mind, he lost the last remnants of his tenuous self-control. With a primal scream he upturned the table, breakfast and all. Eggs splattered the wall as he raged across the room, planting his fist through the plaster next to the bathroom door.

"I like what you've done with the place," a voice broke through the red haze that had settled over him, and he whirled with a vicious snarl. "Whoa!" David held his hands up in surrender, his body tensed to fend off a swing from his enraged friend. Cal seemed to deflate, his anger fleeing as quickly as it had come. He pulled his hand from the wall with an apologetic shrug, shaking the plaster off before turning to survey the damage.

"I'll pay for that," he muttered, wiping his hand off on a spare towel before collapsing on the bed. David just shrugged it off and stepped a little further into the room, leaving the door ajar behind him.

"I guess it went badly?" Cal forced back another snarl, and managed only a mildly sarcastic tone as he answered snidely.

"No, it went swimmingly." Cal paused, rubbing his sore knuckles with his free hand. "I was just…" he took a breath and tried to come up with a suitable explanation, but found none. Deciding that a change of topic was in order, he nodded at the rather unsubtle gesture of the still-open door. "What have you got?" David turned back and crooked his finger at someone standing just outside Cal's line of vision.

"I've got your back-up." Cal looked up at the young agent who'd driven him from the airport, and to the man's credit he didn't challenge Cal's hard stare. David ignored his friend's consternation and continued in an easy tone. "This is Sean Barton. He's young but he's sharp; reminds me a bit of you, really."

"My condolences," Cal quipped, immediately setting the other two at ease. If he could joke, then things weren't too bad. Cal picked up on their relief quickly and turned back to his old comrade. "I appreciate it, David, but I don't need the help." David's expression was neutral, but Cal had known the man long enough to detect amusement in his eyes, and the order in his tone.

"It's not really a request, Cal. Barton needs the experience, and this op isn't high-risk. Six guys holed up in a house with one hostage is as good as any mission to cut his teeth on. Plus, he's a quick study and a crack shot; you need him." Cal scrutinized the young man for a moment, pleased when he seemed to squirm under the attention. Still, he held Cal's gaze steadily and that earned him what Emily would dub "brownie points."

"Fine," Cal seemed to relent to David's insistence, but he felt genuinely relieved to have someone else along with him. "But we need to move soon; their boss will be coming back any time and it'll be too late." David and Barton moved into the room fully as Cal righted the table. He wiped off the remnants of breakfast into the trashcan, scraping the eggs off the wall for good measure as the other two settled in.

They spent the next two hours planning for every possible contingency; David was right in assuming that Barton would come in handy on a mission like this. The young man had been an actor and model before coming to the agency, which would come in handy undercover, and was an accomplished gymnast and martial artist. He'd passed all of the initial tests with flying colors and was, on paper at least, the perfect agent. He was young – almost 25 – but Cal guessed it was only a matter of time before he soared through the ranks. This mission – his first real op – was David's way of seeing how he handled pressure.

Cal could practically sense the rookie's eagerness at being assigned to this case, though he was doing an admirable job of containing it. Cal assumed that had something to do with the older man sitting next to him, but he couldn't be sure. There was something hidden beneath the surface, something niggling at the back of Cal's mind as he watched the interaction between the two, but he was still too wound up to work it out properly. Still, he couldn't afford any mistakes from the rookie and he made sure to press that into him rather firmly. When it was clear Cal needed more than just David's confirmation that he was the best for the job, Barton opened his mouth to speak.

"Sir, I can assure you that I've prepared myself for this mission. I'm ready." He was trying to exude confidence, but Cal's trained eye could sense some anxiety. _Good_, he thought to himself, _better nervous than cocky. _He pretended to think long and hard about it, but even David knew he'd already relented. He could use the assistance and Barton knew the area better than Cal did.

"Just make sure you follow my lead. We can't afford any mistakes on this one." _I can't_, he amended silently, but pushed that thought away immediately. He couldn't start thinking like that, like they could fail. They would get Gillian out of there, and if it was necessary he would die trying.

When they finished they reviewed it about ten more times, ensuring each man understood exactly was his part was. Cal was doing most of the work, with Barton distracting the front man at the door and keeping watch downstairs as Cal cleared the second floor. Between both of them, they only had six men to take care of but Cal didn't want to take any chances that someone else would arrive while they were attempting to get away. With a final look at the plans, Cal pulled thin gloves on and strapped 3 extra magazines to his belt with rip away fasteners, hoping to any deity listening he wouldn't need them.

"Are you sure you don't want any other assets?" David asked once more as he rolled up the plans and walked toward the door. Cal exchanged a look with Barton, and the younger man nodded once.

"We'll contact you as soon as we're done," Cal answered. David just smiled in response, shooting Barton one more meaningful glance before closing the door behind him on the way out. Cal turned to Barton, who was checking his spare clip and holster. "Are you ready for this, son?" Barton just gave him a half-smile as he strapped the magazine to his belt.

"Absolutely."

They parked two blocks away – far enough to avoid suspicion, close enough for a quick getaway. As soon as Cal dispatched the men and Gillian was safe, it was Barton's job to run for the vehicle. The sun was still below the horizon, though they could hear wildlife starting to stir. It wouldn't be long before the neighbors would be up and about, getting ready for their regular Saturday mornings.

Neither man said a word as they approached the house, but a twitch on Cal's face made Barton stop cold beside him. After the van had passed, Cal jerked his head ever so slightly and the pair started moving again. With one last silent confirmation, Cal slipped around to the back of the house, picking the padlock on the gate with relative ease. Barton buttoned up his jacket, turning up his collar and affecting the perfect air for a traveling salesman.

Cal had learned during the planning stage that Barton was fluent in several languages, French among them. He would ring the doorbell, distracting whoever happened to be downstairs as Cal picked the lock on the kitchen door. There was little they could do about completely silencing any action, especially if the residents returned any fire, so Cal hoped there were more downstairs than up. He wouldn't discount the possibility of Gillian being used against them, and Cal had cooked up several contingency plans in case it happened. Admittedly, most of them involved bluffing his way into a clean shot, but he could think about that if and when it came down to it.

_Focus, Lightman._ He shook his head clear as the distinct sound of a doorbell resonated through the thick door. Cal was crouched below the window, waiting for the sounds of Barton's rehearsed speech to float across. He couldn't understand a word of it, but it sounded like there were three men downstairs, and all of them were trying to take charge. Cal tried the knob first, marveling at his luck at finding it unlocked. He slipped into the kitchen silently, staying low as he drew his weapon. Barton would only engage after he initiated, so he knew he had to make his first shot count.

He rounded the corner and stood, but the three Frenchmen were still arguing about who was in charge. Barton managed to avoid catching his eye, but Cal could see his muscles tense as he realized it was show time. Cal quickly analyzed all three men, picking out the strongest among them based on speech tone and posture. The one in the middle seemed almost ready to toss the other two aside when Cal aimed and fired. Barton had stepped to the left to avoid the fire line, drawing and firing at the next largest man in one smooth motion. Cal quickly adjusted his aim and took out the third, littering the foyer with three bodies in the span of five seconds.

Shouts from upstairs echoed through the house, and Barton quickly cleared the lower floor as Cal moved to the staircase.

"I'm only here for the woman. Send her down and we'll leave you in peace." Barton returned to his side and translated his demand into French, and they only had to wait a few seconds for the response.

"_Casse-toi!_" Barton grimaced and Cal held up a quick hand.

"Nope, no need to translate that one. I think I got it." His face was set in a stern mask as he ascended the stairs slowly. They opened up into the hallway, and Cal had to be careful to avoid any cross-fire from the opposing bedroom. He stuck his head up quickly, ducking back down before the shots could hit their mark. He cringed as a barrage of bullets slammed into the wall, stopping only when the man realized his target wasn't there. But Cal had gotten what he wanted, and he now knew there was only one man waiting in that bedroom. The other two were still unaccounted for, but he would worry about them when the time came.

He took a deep breath, steadying his nerves before launching himself up the stairs and into the hallway. He slammed against the wall next to the door after firing off three quick rounds into the room. Two more returned to him, and he ducked as they sailed over his head. By his count he only had two bullets left in the magazine, and he cursed silently as he realized he would probably be killed reloading.

"Gotta make em count," he murmured to himself, pushing off the wall. He bit back a cry as a bullet tore through the wall next to him and into his thigh. It passed clean through the flesh leaving an angry wound but Cal stayed silent, refusing to let the man know he'd been wounded. It didn't seem too bad, and he ignored the searing pain as he ducked down once again. The assailant aimed high, missing Cal as he stepped across the threshold. Two shots later and the man was lying in a pool of blood.

Cal reloaded quickly, shoving the empty magazine into a spare pocket. He grabbed a bandage from his other pocket and wrapped it quickly around the gash in his thigh. He glanced back to make sure he hadn't bled on the floor, happy to see that his pants had soaked up what had oozed out. David would most likely intercept whatever emergency calls were being made by the neighbors, but there was only so much he could do. If Cal or Barton were tied to the scene, there would be trouble.

Cal paused to listen for any signs of the other two men, but heard only silence. There was one other bedroom on the top level, and judging by the deadbolt lock on the outside of the door Cal guessed this was where they were holding Gillian. He stepped quickly but silently to the door, readying his weapon as he leveraged himself on his wounded leg. With one massive kick the door was open, and Cal trained the barrel of his gun at an empty room.

"What the hell?" He lowered the barrel a fraction of an inch, his eyes scanning the room for any signs of hidden assailants. He lowered down enough to see there was no one hiding under the bed, and the closet was likewise unoccupied. Either they had moved Gillian before they'd arrived or…

He spun and lifted his weapon in one motion, his face an emotionless mask as he faced an image that would haunt his nightmares for a few nights to come.

"Cal," her voice was barely above a whisper, but the shock and relief it held cut through him like a knife. Just from the sound of her voice he could tell she was crying, and he had to push aside the instinct to make sure she was alright. Instead, his eyes were trained on the man behind her and the pistol he had jammed against her jawbone. The gunman's other arm was wrapped around her shoulder and neck, holding her flush against his frame as he shouted angrily at Cal.

"_Vous déposer le pistolet!_" Cal got the gist of the message, but shook his head sharply.

"Not gonna happen. You let her go and we can work this out." Cal sneered as the man pressed the gun harder into her skin, and she gritted her teeth against the pain. His eyes flickered to her face for an instant then back to the gunman, and he leveled his weapon at the man's head. "I really don't like repeating myself. Let her go!"

"_Nique ta mere!_" The malice in the man's voice was enough of a translation, and Cal took a step forward. The gunman reacted immediately, taking a step back toward the bathroom they'd come out of. Cal could see the fear in his eyes and in the tremble of his hands, and Cal knew he was close to losing control. One wrong step and this entire mission – his entire life – would be over. Trying a different tactic he lowered his own gun a fraction, still ready to fire but not immediately trained for a kill shot. Forcing himself to calm down, he affected a neutral tone and prayed that this man understood at least a little English.

"Look, I understand you're afraid. If you let her go and promise not to follow us, you will never see me again. But I can guarantee that if you do something _stupid_," Cal's voice hardened involuntarily at the thought, "if you pull that trigger, your life is over." The man hesitated, relaxing his hold on Gillian as he realized all of his friends were probably dead. Cal could see the myriad of emotions playing out across his face, but chief among them was fear. He had to get Gillian away from this guy before he did something everyone was going to regret.

The gunshot scared all of them, and Gillian let out a sharp cry as she fell to the floor. The gunman went down with her, landing just underneath her, and Cal reacted immediately.

"No!" He surged forward, fully intent on following through with his threat. He was a dead man, and Cal would make sure of it. Startled eyes met his gaze, but it wasn't the dark, panicked look of the gunman. Relief coursed through him as it was his partner's bright blue eyes that locked onto his own, and he set his weapon on the floor next to him as he knelt down.

"Gillian? You're alright? It's okay." He kept his voice soft, mindful of years-old warnings on dealing with victims of trauma. But before he could even finish his last sentence she had launched herself forward, burying her head into his shoulder as she shook with sobs. His arms came around her easily, cradling her thin form against his body. His eyes cut over to the staircase where Barton was standing ready. His shot had been clean, right through the back of the head, and Cal could feel where some of the mess had splattered onto the back of Gillian's blouse and hair. He nodded once at the younger man in both recognition and thanks even as Barton pulled out his phone to call in the cleanup crew.

"We have to get out of here," Cal said finally, his throat raw from shouting. The entire ordeal had lasted less than ten minutes, but he had no doubt that, despite David's nearly inexhaustible resources, the police were probably on their way. He stood up, wincing as his injured leg protested loudly. Gillian was so wrapped up in her own relief that she didn't notice, and Cal wasn't going to alert her to the fact any sooner than necessary. Barton disconnected with the cleaning crew, telling Cal to meet him in the alley out back before taking off for the car. Cal let go of Gillian for one moment to retrieve his weapon, settling her on his left side in order to keep the gun ready if need be.

They navigated the narrow staircase easily, and Cal used the ruse of supporting her weight to keep from jarring his leg too hard. Finally they made it to the bottom of the stairs, and Gillian gasped as she took in the three lifeless bodies lying in a heap in the foyer. The question was in her eyes, but Cal's face was blank, impossible to read. He was still in op-mode; she'd get nothing out of him right now.

She had heard the first gunshot from her locked bedroom and wondered if Emile hadn't finally lost his temper. But even as two more shots echoed through the house, one of the smaller men had opened her door and seized her, pulling her into the bathroom and ordering her to keep her mouth shut. She'd heard careful footsteps on the stairs, then the telltale sounds of a gunfight in the hallway. She hadn't dared hope that her rescue was imminent, but even if it was she wasn't sure what the man behind her would do.

Seeing Cal's face had been like settling under a warm blanket on a cold night. She had heard his voice before, when he'd come in a now-obvious attempt to scope the place out. But actually seeing his face, realizing that he'd trekked halfway around the world to rescue her, was too much for her. If the gunman hadn't been physically holding her up, she was sure her knees would have buckled underneath her at the sight of him ready to kill to protect her.

"You alright, love?" She could hear the worry and relief in the timbre of his voice, and she managed a small nod and a smile as they walked through the empty kitchen. Her eyes darted around, and Cal could see the confusion on her features. "What is it?"

"Emile," she said, though it took two tries to get the word past her parched lips. "He's not here." Cal had known there were six men, but had assumed either Barton had gotten the sixth man or he simply wasn't here. Either way, Cal was happy not to have to deal with him, and he shook his head.

"Don't worry about that now," he told her as he guided her through the back door and into the small yard. "Let's get you out of here." His focus was only on getting her away from this house; whatever mess he had to deal with later could wait.

Barton had eased the smaller car into the alley, and Cal let Gillian crawl into the backseat first before easing down next to her. As soon as the door was closed Barton was off, keeping his speed well under the limit to avoid suspicion from any nosy neighbors. Cal pulled a blanket off the floor and draped it over Gillian, worried at how small she seemed in comparison to the strong, confident woman he'd come to love. Her head was leaning against the window, vacant eyes not really seeing the scenery as it passed by. They flickered over to Cal for an instant as he tucked the blanket more snugly around her, but for the most part she ignored everything. He knew she was in shock – he'd seen it enough times in the field to know when someone was mentally overwhelmed. He just hoped that a lot of rest and recuperation would be enough to pull her out of this slump. Barton half-turned in his seat to address Cal in a quiet tone, his eyes darting from the road to the rear-view mirror and back again.

"The Director said to tell you 'Well done,' sir. He's already dispatching men. They intercepted two emergency calls, and have managed to keep this entirely under the radar." Cal sagged in relief, happy to know that his friend would be taking care of everything.

"We missed one," Cal said finally, and he caught Barton's eye in the mirror. "There were only two upstairs. Emile wasn't home." Proving just what an asset he was, Barton had already pulled out his phone to relay the information to David. If the cleaning crew walked in there unprepared, it could get ugly for everyone.

"Should I go straight to headquarters, sir?" Barton's still-eager voice cut through the silence, and Cal shook his head.

"The hotel, please. I'll check in with David later." His eyes cut over to Gillian, who had finally relaxed enough to close her eyes. He didn't kid himself into thinking she was actually resting, but at least it was better than the empty expression he'd seen on her normally lively face. He slipped his hand under the blanket, laying it over her smaller one in a gesture of comfort. She didn't stir, but he did feel her fingers curl around his ever so slightly. For the first time since he'd dropped her to the airport in DC four days ago, the knot of worry that had settled in his stomach began to unwind, and he laid his head back with a sigh of relief.

* * *

One more chapter to go! Now that the action is over, they have to deal with the immediate repercussions. Thanks again to all the reviewers out there!


	7. Chapter 7

_Saturday, April 9th, 2011_

_Paris, France - 6:34 AM_

Barton parked just in front of the lobby doors, and he quickly jumped out and jogged around the car to open the rear passenger door. Cal kept the blanket around Gillian, pressing her up against his right side to hide the bloody bandage wrapped around his upper thigh. They managed up the stairs with minimal effort, Barton leading the way to open the door to Cal's room. Once inside, Cal set Gillian onto the bed and knelt down as Barton switched the bathroom light on. Her eyes were cast down to her hands, which were folded tightly in her lap. His larger ones came to rest on top of them, and her eyes flickered up to his.

"Alright, darling?" There were too many emotions swirling in her eyes, so he settled for a reassuring smile as he squeezed her fingers once and stood. Barton was standing off to the side looking a bit uncomfortable, and Cal managed to approach him without limping. With one quick look back at Gillian's still form, Cal gripped Barton's upper arm and walked him to the door.

"I can manage from here," he said crisply. "You go make sure David's got everything under control."

"I can assure you, he does," Barton replied tersely, and Cal narrowed his eyes. "Are you sure it's alright?"

"Yep, peachy. But she needs to rest, and she can't do that with you here." Barton nodded, turning to leave them alone. "Oi!" Cal added, and the younger man turned back around. "Thank you." Barton stared at him a moment as if determining the sincerity of Cal's gratitude before nodding once. "Tell David I'll contact him in a bit with a final report." Barton lifted one hand in salute even as Cal was closing the door behind him. He leaned heavily against it for a moment, but a sharp breath from Gillian pulled him out of his own thoughts. He forced back a wave of pain from his injury and shuffled back over to the bed. It was dark in the room except for the flood light from the bathroom, but the first rays of the morning sun were creeping up over the horizon and Cal knew he would have distract her if he wanted to clean and dress his leg without her knowledge.

"Gil, darling, you with me?" She had shrugged off the blanket in the small confines of the hotel room, and he guessed her shivering had nothing to do with the cold. He reached down and gripped her hands tightly, tugging her to a standing position. Her head lifted then, and Cal was surprised to see no traces of the fear he'd expected. He'd always known she was strong - stronger than most - but an ordeal like this could wreak havoc on a person's psyche. To see the familiar spark in his partner's eyes was an immense relief.

"You came," her voice was soft but he had no trouble hearing her in the silent room. The disbelief in her tone shocked him, but there was a certainty in her eyes that spoke volumes about her faith in him. He lifted a hand slowly to tuck an errant strand of hair behind her ear, using the motion to cup her face in his palm.

"Of course I did, darling. Of course I did. Nowhere else in the world I'd be." She took a shaky breath, collecting her self and her thoughts all in one effort. She briefly pressed her cheek into his hand before slipping away.

"I need a shower." He stepped back then, allowing her the space she'd tacitly requested.

"Towels are already in there," he gestured to the bathroom. "Ignore the mess." She smiled briefly, a ghost of her real one but a smile nonetheless, and his heart lifted a tiny bit. He watched her walk to the bathroom door, wincing a bit as her eyes swept over the fist-sized hole in the wall next to it. He waited but no rebuke came, and he watched her stare at the hole for a moment before continuing into the bathroom. The door shut behind her, throwing Cal into darkness. He waited until he heard the shower come on before he hobbled over to the chair and sank down with a sigh.

His leg was throbbing as he unwrapped it, and he managed to bite back a cry of pain as the wound was exposed to the air. There was a field dressing kit in the briefcase David had given him, and he stretched just far enough to pull it over to him without straining the injury. He whispered curses as he cleaned out the three inch gash, and once he glanced up nervously at the bathroom door as a rather loud grunt of pain escaped his lips. Finally the wound was clean and he contemplated the necessity for stitches. He really should get it looked at, but in order to do that he would have to bring it to Gillian's attention. Wanting to spare her any unnecessary grief he just bandaged and re-dressed the wound, but even that had Cal heaving with the effort. Now that it was clean it felt better, and Cal could manage without limping so long as he concentrated on it. He retrieved his cell phone, calling the number for "Harold" in his contact list; David picked up after three rings.

"Cal? Barton reports all's well."

"Of course it is," Cal answered flippantly. "I wouldn't be talking to you if it hadn't." The weight of his words were not lost on David, and he heard the other man chuckle over the connection.

"How's your 'partner?'"

"She's fine," Cal ignored the jab and let his eyes wander to the closed bathroom door. "She's getting cleaned up now. Listen, you think you could send someone over to her hotel and pick up her things? I'd do it, but I don't want to leave her here alone."

"Consider it done. Adrianna will deliver it to your door within the hour. Is there anything else?"

"Barton tell you about Emile?"

"He did," David's tone hardened. "Based on the intelligence we have on him, this man is not an enemy you want to have. I don't think you'll have much trouble with him once you're back across the pond, though."

"Good. You'll keep your ear to the ground, though?"

"Of course. You did good, Cal. Barton says you're pretty spry for an old fellow." Now that the threat was over and Cal's mind was steering him away from the old days, he could finally discern what it was that had been nagging at him since he'd met Barton. He kicked himself for not seeing it before, but Gillian's welfare had consumed every ounce of his attention. Since she was safe, Cal felt more relaxed and more confident.

"Well, he's not bad for a green foot. Tell he did well; just like his old man." David laughed then, and Cal realized he'd been trying to test him.

"Still as sharp as ever, Cal. I'm proud of him, though. He's shaping up to be a fine agent - one of the best, if I can say that without seeming too biased." Cal laughed as well, feeling the tension in his back and shoulders evaporate with the movement.

"I cannot possibly thank you enough, David."

"Debt paid, then?" the older man quipped.

"And then some. If you ever need something, you have my information." Cal knew it was a dangerous game to owe someone like David a favor, but he didn't care. The man had aided him when he most needed it, and helped in rescuing one of the two most important people in Cal's life. If that cost him a favor later on down the road, it was worth it.

"I might just collect on that one day. Until then..." The line went dead and Cal pressed the end button to clear the screen for his next call. It was past midnight back home, but his people were nothing if not dedicated. Cal suspected it had more to do with Foster than him, but he couldn't deny their loyalty and perseverance. Loker picked up almost immediately at the office, and Cal quickly filled him in on the general details. He could hear the relief and happiness in the younger man's voice as he relayed the information to someone next to him - presumably Torres. The young woman came on the phone then asking for Gillian, but Cal was firm in his insistence that she be left alone for now.

"Can you call Emily and let her know I'll be home tomorrow?"

"I will," Torres answered dutifully. "Tell Foster we said hello and that we're glad she's okay."

"Will do, love. And not a word of this to Emily," he ordered. "I'll tell her tomorrow when it's all over and we're home. Got it?"

"Got it. Take care of her." Torres hung up and Cal switched the phone off, setting it to charge as they slept. The sun was fully risen now, and Cal quickly pulled the curtains closed to block out its rays. He switched the bedside lamp on instead, finding more comfort in the soft glow as he sat down and pulled out his weapon. He'd managed to only expend one clip - 7 bullets - for 3 men. There was a time in his past when that would have earned him a reprimand, but now all he could think was what a waste of life it was.

He spent the next ten minutes cleaning and oiling the weapon until the action was smooth. The extra clips were stowed easily into the briefcase next to the empty weapon, the remnants of the first aid kit, all the intel he'd accumulated, and the shoulder holster. He closed it firmly, shutting that part of himself away once again with the click of the latches. A soft knock at the door set him on alert, but his heart rate slowed as Adrianna's voice floated through.

"Room service." Cal opened the door and accepted the bag she offered him with a grateful smile. "Do you need anything else?"

"No, thanks love." She smiled brightly and bounced away as Cal closed the door. He hauled the duffel bag to the bathroom door, knocking sharply to be heard over the rush of the water.

"Gil? I've got your bag here. I'm just gonna set it inside okay?" He opened the door just enough to slip the bag through, managing to avert his eyes enough that he only caught a flash of her silhouette in the mirror. She thanked him as he closed the door quickly, leaving her to finish up in peace. He sank back down into the chair with a quiet groan, wanting nothing more than to lay down on the soft bed and sleep for 24 hours. But Gillian needed the rest more than he did, and he could wait. The water shut off, and he closed his eyes as he listened to the sounds of her moving around in the bathroom. After almost ten more minutes of light dozing the bathroom door opened, and Cal blinked against the harsh fluorescent light that flooded over him.

Gillian was dressed in soft flannel pants and an over-sized t-shirt, and as he stood to move around the bed he could see the hesitation in her step, the fear that she would fall asleep and wake up back in that place. He placed a comforting hand on her shoulder and squeezed it gently as he turned back the covers.

"I'll be right here, darling," he promised her, nodding toward his previous seat. She slid under the covers with a soft smile, turning her back to the chair as she settled in to sleep. As he sat his vigil, Cal pretended not to hear when she sniffled loudly, letting her sort through her emotions on her own. A lot had happened in the last 48 hours, and her mind was going to have to process it all before it let her get any sleep. He wanted to go over and hold her, to promise her that he would never let anything like this happen again. But Foster was a strong, independent woman and any intrusion by him would be rejected outright. His own exhaustion was threatening to overwhelm him, but with only one bed he didn't dare lie next to her for fear of disturbing her restful slumber.

She sighed as she rolled over, and Cal glanced at her quickly to make sure she was still sleeping. Her fingers clutched the blanket greedily, gathering it under her chin as she settled back down into the mass of pillows that came with every hotel room. A beam of sunlight through the curtains was falling across her cheek, and he could see an angry purpling bruise forming from her cheek bone to her jawline. It seemed Emile had been savage in his revenge, and he closed his eyes in an effort to regain control over his emotions.

"Cal?" He sat up sharply in his seat, a quick reply already on his lips. But her eyes were still closed, and her brow knitted together in panic and worry. His heart constricted as the possibility of nightmares entered his mind, and all thoughts of propriety went out the window as he stretched out on the bed next to her. As soon as his warmer body contacted hers she curled into him, the hand that had been clutching the comforter twisting itself in his shirt instead. With a quick lift of his hips he managed to pull the cover over him, allowing him to wrap both of his arms around Gillian's shaking form. She was awake now - he could feel the fluttering of her eyelashes under his chin - but she just breathed deeply as she clung to him.

"Cal?" her voice was steadier now, and he pulled back and lowered his chin to look into her eyes.

"Hmm?" He was ready to give her anything she asked, ready to stay with her until she could hold herself up again. At that moment, Gillian Foster could have asked for the world and Cal would have spent the rest of his days trying to find a way to give it to her. All of this passed over his face unguarded, and the beginning of a real smile was teasing at her lips.

"You stink." She shoved him half-heartedly and he laughed, unable to come up with a suitable retort to her obvious attempt to pull them back into familiar territory. "Go take a shower and then come get some sleep." He slid back to his feet, tucking the comforter around her. With only another moment's thought, he leaned over and kissed her forehead.

"I'll be right back, darling."

He showered and changed into his own sweatpants and tank top in lieu of his regular sleeping attire, or lack thereof, and shut off the bathroom light before stepping back out into the room. Even, shallow breathing told him she'd drifted back to sleep, so he checked the locks on the door one more time before settling silently back into bed beside her. She gravitated toward his warmth even in her sleep, and he slid an arm under her neck as he pulled her closer to him.

The last of his worry and anguish melted away as he listened to her soft breathing. The terror he had felt from that first phone call was finally replaced with relief, and he didn't resist the urge to kiss her head again. If her earlier barb was any indication, she'd be back to her feisty self in no time – something Cal was immensely grateful for. He'd planned for every contingency going into that house, but Gillian being broken beyond repair wasn't on his list. He'd had no plan for that, no clever scheme in the event that his partner's psyche had been shattered.

"Stop thinking," she murmured against his neck, settling her left arm across his chest as she adjusted to a more comfortable position.

"Sure," he whispered back, closing his eyes in an effort to calm his overactive mind. Finally it seemed to get the message, and he drifted off beside her.

When Cal woke Gillian was gone, and for one frightening moment he thought he'd dreamt the entire thing. But a sharp sound from the bathroom alerted him to another person in the hotel room and his pounding heart slowed. It was only noon – not nearly enough time for either of them to be considered well rested – so he assumed she'd be back. Ten minutes passed and the light still shone underneath the bathroom door, but the only sound he heard was his own breathing.

Tossing the covers off, he swung his legs over the edge with a groan. Every muscle in his body was protesting now, and Cal was reminded once again that he wasn't as young as he used to be. With a grunt of effort he lifted himself to his feet, stretching just far enough to ease the ache in his back but not to pull his injury.

"You alright?" her soft voice startled him, and he whirled quickly with a wince of pain. "Sorry, didn't mean to scare you." He looked at her bathed in the soft light from the bathroom, her form mostly silhouetted against the doorframe. She seemed fine, and her voice held no indication of the normal stress he'd expected. He stepped around the bed cautiously, not wanting to frighten her if she'd only managed a façade of calm. But as he moved closer he could see the laughter in her eyes.

"I'm not going to bite you, Cal." She held out her arms and he stepped into them willingly, unable to resist his own jab.

"Pity that," he whispered, earning him a playful slap on his arm as she pulled away. "You alright?" He returned her question and she gave him a thin smile in return.

"I'm fine, Cal." He stared long and hard at her, but she deliberately kept her back to the light, shadowing her face from his intense gaze. "Stop it, I'm fine." It came out harsher than she had intended, and he just lifted one careful eyebrow in response. Letting out a long-suffering sigh, she lifted her arms and let them fall again in a helpless gesture. "What would you like me to say? That I was terrified? I'll admit that freely. I had no idea why they had taken me, or even what they wanted. But they didn't…they didn't hurt me." Cal sneered and reached out one finger, tracing the angry bruise on her face.

"What do you call that then, love?" She leaned away from his probing touch sharply, immediately regretting it at the hurt look in his eyes.

"I'm sorry, Cal, I just…" For once she had no words, so she stayed silent as he stepped to her left. Using one hand, he cradled her face and turned her head so it was bathed in the light from the bathroom. With her guard down he read it all – the fear of her attack, the uncertainty she felt during her captivity, the relief of her rescue. She still couldn't quite believe that Cal had come for her, or even how he had done so, and she let him see the curiosity in her eyes. He let his hand drop from her face to her hand, tugging her along with him toward the bed.

"Come on and get some more rest. We'll order room service once you've slept a bit more." She opened her mouth – probably to tell him again how "fine" she was – but a yawn interrupted whatever she'd been about to say. To his credit, he didn't say another word; he just gave her a pointed look and gently pushed her onto the bed.

Cal ignored the faint flush in her pale cheeks as he tucked her in and smoothed the hair back from her forehead. At her confused look he just smiled in return, still amazed how they could have entire conversations without ever saying a word. When she finally closed her eyes he returned to his side of the bed, settling on top of the covers as his eyes drifted shut.

He woke before her, running a hand down his face as he took a deep breath. The light outside the curtains was fading, and Cal was relieved to see that it was just after eight. Other than the small interruption earlier, Gillian had slept for over twelve hours and as he looked down he could see how much healthier she looked already. He got up as quietly as he could and searched for clean clothes, glad he'd thought to pack at least a few items before he'd taken off from DC. He had just closed the bathroom door and shucked his tank top off when he heard her cry out, the fear in her tone overriding any sense of propriety.

"Foster, wake up." He sat on the edge of the bed, laying one firm hand on her shoulder to keep her from thrashing at him. When she didn't wake he leaned over, shaking her a little harder. "Gillian!" She bolted upright, her arms reaching out to fend off whatever attack she'd seen in her dream. But Cal was faster and he wrapped his arms around her back, crushing her to his chest. He could feel hot tears on his bare shoulder, and he realized with a grimace that he was shirtless.

Gillian didn't seem to mind – or it didn't even register – as she clung to him and cried. He whispered nonsense to her, and in the back of his mind he recalled murmuring the same things to a very young, very distraught Emily whenever she woke screaming. He didn't relax his hold when she did, but he moved one warm hand from her back to cradle her head against his shoulder. She took deep steadying breaths as she tried to regain control of her emotions. Finally he let her pull away from him, but not before he heard her breath hitch at the realization that she had been clinging to his bare chest. He, too, seem to realize their predicament and he stood a little awkwardly.

"I was going to change and order some food. You think you could eat something?" She sniffled one more time and rubbed her hand over her face, trying to compose herself. Finally, she took a deep breath and nodded, offering him a half-smile. He jerked one thumb over his shoulder and turned away. "I'll just…get changed then." He retreated into the bathroom to change, but also to give her space to collect herself again. Embarrassment would be overwhelming her right now, and the last thing he needed to do was call attention to her nightmare, or the way her body had shaken desperately against his own. She still had some demons to exorcise, but Cal didn't think it was anything that time wouldn't heal.

With clean clothes and a clean face he stepped back out into the room, surprised to see her up and about herself. She'd thrown the curtains back to reveal the Parisian cityscape, and she was currently digging through her own suitcase for something to wear. At the sound of his footsteps she turned and gave him a classic Foster I've-got-everything-under-control grin.

"How about we go out tonight?" Alarm bells sounded in his mind, and he quickly forced them into silence. But Gillian was quite possibly the second best in her field, and she caught his hesitation before he even spoke. "It's just that we've been sleeping all day, and I don't suppose either of us has had a decent meal in a few days. Not to mention my plans for sightseeing were rudely interrupted. So what do you say?" She was good – he'd learned just how good some months before when the truth about the Doyle case had come to light. Cal could see no hint of fear in her face, nor any waver in her voice; it was almost as if she hadn't been crying despairingly into his shoulder moments before. But her face still bore tear tracks, and the cheek that wasn't discolored was red and puffy.

"I'm not sure, Gil. What about…" he eyed her bruise warily, but she just shrugged.

"If I try to cover it up, it will look worse than if I just let it be."

"But what will people think…you know, out there?" He gestured vaguely to the window, and she laughed. It wasn't her normal, joyous laugh but it warmed his heart anyway to hear the sound from her lips.

"It'll be fine. Trust me." He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, still unsure. "I'll pay." Her joke was the final straw, and he reached out to lay a hand on her shoulder.

"Fine, but I get to pick. I'll be back in ten minutes." He turned from her cry of protest to walk to the door, leaving her alone to change and get ready while he acquired transportation and directions to the best café in the area.

Talk over dinner was light, and Cal was sure to keep it to topics that weren't work related. But after they'd exhausted Emily's future plans and funny anecdotes from their years as partners, the conversation lapsed into silence. It was Gillian who breeched the invisible barrier as she wiped her mouth with her napkin and set it on top of her plate.

"So how is the company managing without us?" Cal offered her a mischievous smirk as he finished his glass of water.

"Well enough, I suppose. Torres is handling the day to days, and you know how efficient Heidi is. I expect she could probably run the place for weeks and no one would even know we were gone."

"We're not staying in Paris for weeks, Cal," Gillian admonished lightly, though she couldn't help but think about what it would be like to just take a vacation and go somewhere she didn't have to think about work.

"Not suggesting it, love. I'm just saying that Heidi runs a tight ship. Though I expect someone will be needing us to sign the payroll." He conceded the point at her smile, and moved on. "When is the last time you took an honest to God vacation, Foster?" She pretended to think about it, but she knew the answer even before he'd completed the sentence.

"Let's see…we've been partners for six years, so probably about nine years or so, right before I started working at the Pentagon full time. Alec and I went to New York City for five days and did touristy things." She didn't add that it had been their honeymoon, but she didn't have to. He narrowed his eyes at her, and she had to hold back a laugh at his serious expression. Finally he broke eye contact and sighed.

"That's it. When we get back you are taking a week off. I don't care if you just stay home and watch those sappy, Lifetime movies and eat junk food until you lapse into a sugar coma. But you need a break." It was her turn to narrow her eyes, not fooled for a moment by his flippant tone.

"Is this one of those things where you think you know what's best for me in spite of myself?"

"Yep." His grin was smug now, and she leaned forward a bit in response.

"And if I refuse?" She was toying with him now. The thought of a week off was enticing, and her mind was already whizzing through the possibilities.

"I'll just change the locks," he returned playfully, glad to see the old light in her eyes returning. "And I'm fairly certain I'm the only one here who knows how to pick a lock." Her face sobered then, and he cursed silently. He'd been very careful to avoid steering the conversation in any direction that would lead them to Cal's actions the past few days, but he'd walked into that one without even realizing it. The curiosity was back in her eyes, and he knew he wouldn't be able to distract her this time. She paid the check as he excused himself to retrieve the car, and by the time he'd pulled back into the hotel parking lot he could see the determined set of her jaw and the resolve in her eyes.

"You go up to the room; I'll be there in a bit." He waved her on but she refused to go, waiting until he'd spoken quietly with Adrianna at the front desk before falling in step beside him toward the stairs. He let her step up ahead of him, hoping she wouldn't notice how badly he was favoring his injured leg. He wasn't even sure if she remembered he had been wounded, or if she'd even known in the first place. She had been asleep the first time he'd doctored it, and he'd kept it covered since then.

"Cal?" her voice pulled him from his thoughts, and he could see the frown on her face as she looked back at him. "Are you alright?"

"I'm just…not as young as I used to be." She scrutinized him for a moment more before turning and continuing up the stairs. Once they reached their landing Cal led the way to their room, careful to avoid limping at all. But two steps away from the door he faltered, and his leg gave out. He managed to catch himself against the wall, but Gillian was next to him in an instant.

"Cal! What's wrong?" His fingers were pressed above the wound, and her eyes were drawn to his leg instantly. "Oh my God…" there was worry in her tone, but he could hear her disapproval as well. She fished the key card from his jacket pocket and opened the door, letting him lean on her a little as they hobbled the last few steps into the room.

"It's nothing, Gil. I'm fine."

"Let me see."

"It's fine," he insisted. "Just a flesh wound, is all. I already cleaned it up." Her lips were pressed into a thin line, and Cal knew there was nothing he could say that would get her to let it go. Unable to come up with any other argument, Cal pushed himself to his feet and unbuckled his pants. She took a step back at the unexpected move, but as his pants pooled to the floor her eyes were drawn to the ugly wound on his right leg. She sat on the bed next to him, careful to keep from touching the bandage or the area around the injury.

"Does it hurt?" He shrugged, his eyes staring at the top of her head as she inspected the damage.

"Not really," he admitted. "Unless I'm up and about for a while. It tore through the muscle, so as long as I stay off of it, it's fine." She remembered their dinner, and how she'd insisted they park a few blocks away from the café and walk through the moonlit streets. He could see the guilt on her features, and he quickly stood on his good leg and hoisted his pants back up around his waist.

"Cal, I –"

"It's alright, Gillian." She grabbed his hand before he could retreat across the room, and he let her pull him onto the bed as she scooted back. He laid on his left side facing her, their knees curled up and touching as they propped their heads in their hands. For a while neither of them said a word, they just stared into each other's eyes. Her free hand lifted to his face, tracing a light path down his cheek to his shoulder, then continuing to grasp his hand between them.

Cal took a breath then, detailing for her every moment from that first morning at the office without her to interrogating Antoine to planning her rescue in this very hotel room. She had known some of the details about his past from previous conversations and off-hand stories over dinner. But listening to him talk about the ease with which he slipped back into what he'd coined "the business" was a bit terrifying. As he finished, her eyes were shining with unshed tears, still unable to fully comprehend the depth of this man's devotion to her. He was silently watching her, waiting for her response to his story, but she couldn't find any words to convey all of the thoughts swirling in her head.

Slowly she leaned forward, pressing her lips to the side of his mouth in an intimate imitation of their usual greeting. He stayed completely still, his eyes boring into hers as she pulled away with a smile. He returned it easily, using his right arm to reach up and pull her to him. She didn't resist, instead using the opportunity to tuck herself neatly under his chin as her legs slipped between his. He pulled her closer still, sighing in relief as she relaxed in his embrace. It was just like them, he thought, to communicate without words, and he accepted her silent gratitude with nothing more than a smile. They laid like that for what seemed like hours, just enjoying the silence and the company. Finally, Gillian relaxed her hold but didn't move away from his arms. She took a deep breath, inhaling the scent of Cal's aftershave and the crisp, clean smell of the hotel sheets. After a few more moments of silence, she finally voiced the only thing left on her mind.

"Can we go home now?"

* * *

Well, there it is. The finale. I tried to make it a little longer while still leaving it open-ended. In time, I may visit this universe again. There are still a few unanswered questions (Emile, for instance), and a sequel is not out of the question. I also didn't want to have Cal and Gillian just go ahead and admit their feelings here. It didn't seem like the time or place, though I did try to bring them a bit closer to that mark than before. Perhaps if a sequel is ever written, that issue can be resolved as well.

As always, your comments and thoughts are always welcome and appreciated. Thank you for reading.


End file.
